Chapter Text
Imagine being at eye-level with Darth Maul’s waist, the cut of his abdominals vanishing into his trousers, on your knees – sore because you’ve been down there so long – watching his shoulders lift lightly with each breath as he considers what he’s going to do with your mouth:
Whether you’ve been good enough to receive his cock.
He plucks your bottom lip open with his thumb, rubbing the salt of sweat from his skin along your teeth, and in one rumbling murmur, he commands you to, “Open.”
You do, because you’re a good little slut, but you’re not good enough to deserve anything other than his index and middle fingers as he slides them against your tongue.
And you, craven, can’t help yourself: you begin to suck.
He watches you, slicking his fingers with your spit, wanting him to see how good you can be – how exuberant to swallow him back so the tips of his fingers almost trigger your gag reflex.
He tastes like sin, and you imagine just how good it will feel when he sinks his fingers into your hair, controlling your head by the roots, sliding the velvet heat of each one of his ridges past your lips, stretching your mouth out to use for his pleasure alone because you’re such a good little whore to this Dark Lord. You’ll take every inch and every drop and you’d never dare beg him to stop.
You groan on his fingers, your fingers clawing your thighs, desperate to touch – to take out his cock.
“Don’t make me tie you up.”
Shuddering a breath, you force your hands to relax, opting instead to wrap your tongue around his index and middle fingers, the rough touch of his callouses as you rub them a decadence. You groan, because you’ve seen how he handles his weapons – the surety, the force of his power, the bottomless focus that hums through him when he fucks you is the same as when he fights: he does so with purpose; with rough precision – an almost violence.
But only if you’re very good.
Only if you don’t come.
There’s no one else he’d let do this, you think. No one else is worthy – but you know: you’ll show him you deserve his cock.
The light in his eyes flashes as you tip back your head, and he pushes into your mouth to the knuckle, his lips parting, eyes half-lidded in appreciation, and in the moment before the tension inside you snaps, you think the Force might be to blame for how hard your cunt spasms on nothing at all before you come, gripping at his wrist, sucking his fingers hard as you rock your hips, grinding on nothing but the promise of his attention as he looks down at your writhing, pathetic body – your desire for him so easily sated.
Filthy. Wanton…
He pulls his fingers from you with a pop, wiping your spit across your cheek.
…Slut.
You breathe through your nose, your thighs slicked with your arousal, and he says, going still in that predatory way of his that unfurls the promise of punishment like a whip:
“I didn’t tell you you could do that.”